


Left For Sorrow

by Emotionally_Compromised



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed Scrooge McDuck, Found Family, Gen, M/M, Pre series, implied Scrooge McDuck/Duckworth, mostly hurt tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 12:43:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20778776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emotionally_Compromised/pseuds/Emotionally_Compromised
Summary: Webby Vanderquack was five years old and knew three things for certain since moving into McDuck manor with her Granny: the house was huge with plenty of places to explore and hide, Mr. McDuck was not as grumpy as he wanted everyone to believe, and Mr. Duckworth was very sick.





	Left For Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Till Death do us Part is Quitter Talk!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901922) by [katikacreations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katikacreations/pseuds/katikacreations), [Swiftblight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swiftblight/pseuds/Swiftblight). 

> I've never posted my work before but the sheer lack of emotional fan fiction about Duckworth hurt me personally.

Webby Vanderquack was five years old and knew three things for certain since moving into McDuck manor with her Granny: the house was huge with plenty of places to explore and hide, Mr. McDuck was not as grumpy as he wanted everyone to believe, and Mr. Duckworth was very sick.  
Webby would realise years later that this must have been why her Granny suddenly had to pack up their lives and take the place as a housekeeper in the McDuck household as a favor for an old friend. For now however, Webby was working her way through the manor treading carefully around the other residents of the home as well as the creaky old floor boards and the cobwebs.  
On a Tuesday afternoon mere days after Granny and her had packed their backs and moved into two of the manor’s vacant bedrooms, Webby looked around her barren walls and her nearly empty room deciding in that moment she needed to map out the interior of the home. Webby slipped on her backpack and snuck carefully into the hallway. Webby closed her eyes and spun around choosing a direction at random. She quietly made her way down the hall to her left.  
Jotting down important details as she walked Webby took care to observe even the smallest details for future reference. While the exterior maintained the classic Queen Anne style of the original construction, the interior bares evidence of periodic renovations over the years, most recently in 1987. The floors, while original, rarely creaked which served sneaking well. The off white wallpaper was faded differently in places, suggesting that something had once hung proudly on those walls. Paintings perhaps? Or family photographs? Many framed pieces did remain, although they were very old and some even appeared to be oil portraits. The ceilings were high, ideal for swinging from a grappling hook, Webby noted. If only Granny would let her get her own. Occasionally Webby would peak into vacant rooms and note their purpose; most were bedrooms that had been repurposed as storage but she did find what appeared to be a nice sitting room complete with Grand Piano and a large mystery room that she suspected a more extroverted person than Scrooge would use a ballroom for entertaining guests. As it was, a home designed for four generations currently housed four people. Not that Webby would think about that or the implications for at least another year.  
Webby found herself at the end of this hallway with three choices: go back, left, or right. She wasn’t ready to go back to her room to play. She had barely made a dent in her map. Plus, Webby could only sit quietly with her Quackypatch doll for so long before it became tortuous.  
So left or right. To her left, she could see the other end of the halway, it lead to a large window overlooking the front lawn. That was somewhat promising. To her right she could see less, the hall lights were off to save on the electric bill, however a door was ajar and she could faintly hear voices. Curiosity had been building regarding the men important enough to her Granny that they had to uproot their lives and leave their nice apartment in downtown Duckburg in order to help them. Right it was.  
Webby was a proficient climber. Using this to her advantage she carefully scaled the wall, anchoring herself on the molding Webby perched above the doorframe balanced on the quite frankly ridiculously large decorative ledge.  
“-I told you I’m fine!”  
“Really, Scrooge you don’t have to lie to me,” Duckworth said with a chuckle. “You’re wasting time I don’t have.”  
“Please don’t joke about this,” Scrooge said.  
“I’m not.”  
Webby sat, holding her breath for what felt like hours as cliche as that may be but was merely the moments Scrooge needed to collect his thoughts.  
“You know as well as I do that he doesn’t want to talk to me,” Scrooge mumbled. Webby could barely hear him.  
“Than give me your blessing to reach out to him myself. I’ve always said I won’t meddle in your family matters but at this point he is as much my family as he is yours. I love him too and don’t want to wait for you two to come to your senses,” Duckworth said in the straightforward way one might remark about the weather. “I know how long that takes you both and I do not believe I have that much time.”  
Scrooge sighed, crestfallen. “You’re right. I'm sorry dearie. But I can’t go with you. I’m not ready yet.”  
Even from the door frame Webby could hear the smile in Duckworth’s voice when he said, “I know.”

Webby thought about that conversation a lot over the years that followed, but thought nothing of it when two days later Granny helped Duckworth bundle up to fend off the cold and drove him somewhere herself rather than call Launchpad back from his morning errands with Scrooge.  
At dinner no one acknowledged Duckworth’s field trip. Webby played idly with her carrots while Duckworth and Granny bickered good naturedly over the best way to get stains off of wallpaper. 

As Christmas drew nearer Webby became more sure in her observation that Mr. Duckworth was very sick. Sometimes she didn’t see him for days at a time now. He no longer left for day trips that would not be discussed at the dinner table. And when Scrooge wasn’t by his side helping him up and down stairs, Duckworth had started to use a cane.  
Although it seemed to Webby that no one had bothered to tell Duckworth he was sick. At least no one told him how sick people acted. When Webby was sick she could lie in bed all day with her Quackypatch doll without complaints. It seemed like Duckworth was fighting tooth and nail to do anything other than accept bedrest.  
Webby rarely had nightmares, but when she did she preferred to take care of herself thank you very much. She was much too old to be crawling into bed with her Granny. On this particular night she intended to make herself a cup of hot cocoa and put herself back to bed. To her surprise she was not alone in this train of thought.  
Duckworth seemed smaller in the dark of the kitchen in his well loved tartan robe. He looked up from where he was preparing the kettle.  
“Webby, dear what are you doing out of bed at this hour?”  
She rubbed her eyes, avoiding eye contact, and muttered, “m’ fine.”  
He set his mouth in a firm line. “Of course you are dear. Would you care to join me?”  
Webby thought about this for a moment, considering her opinions. Finally she responded, “Alright.”  
She sat quietly at the kitchen table and watched Duckworth prepare his own cup of tea along with her hot cocoa (even though she hadn’t mentioned that was what she wanted!). He placed a tea cup in front of her gingerly to her left. They sat in quiet companionable silence for several moments before Duckworth set down his own mug and leaned forward gently.  
“You know, little girls are not the only ones who have nightmares.”  
Webby looked up but didn’t respond. In that moment the talkative little duckling knew she needed to listen.  
“I’ve found myself recently unable to sleep. Laying awake at night, worrying about the future; what will happen to my family and friends.”  
Duckworth took a sip of his tea, and the world seemed to stand completely still.  
“It is alright to be afraid Webbigail.”

Webby’s first Christmas in McDuck manor was somehow almost quieter than her holidays with just Granny. Mr. McDuck and Mr. Duckworth didn’t invite anyone over or go anywhere else. They had a simple Christmas dinner just the four of them. Granny cooked, Duckworth insisted he had a much better recipe for stuffing that they must use next year, Scrooge seemed sad in that weird way adults can be where nothing seems to have happened but they won’t talk about it, and Webby was just happy with how she fit in this funny little family. She had more Christmas presents this year than ever before despite Mr. McDuck’s strict no Santa policy and most importantly she felt the most at home she had since moving into the manor. It wasn’t just Mr. McDuck’s house. It was home.  
Going into the New Year was a struggle as Granny added homeschooling Webby to her daily to do’s. While schoolwork kept her busy Webby was still observant. She noticed when in February Mr. McDuck took a leave of absence from McDuck enterprises. She noticed when Granny slipped Launchpad $20 to convince Mr. McDuck to go to an emergency board meeting in March. While they were gone a stranger came, a duck about her parents age from what she remembered. He slipped into Duckworth’s room. They talked for a long time. He left with red eyes and a heavy heart before Scrooge even knew he had been there.  
By Easter, Webby’s funny little family of four was reduced to a family of three. The funeral was private, only close friends since Duckworth apparently had no family. It wasn’t much different than her parents funeral. Less people, and everyone was talking to Mr. McDuck instead of her. But otherwise the same. Webby went to sleep that night with a weigh on her heart; for Mr. McDuck, for the stranger, and for her own loss of a good friend.

Years later three little boys, her brothers, ask her frantically about her friend.  
“You knew Duckworth when he was alive, right?”  
“What was he like?”  
“Was he that freaky crazy or is that like ghost specific?”  
Webby contemplates their questions, still processing the days events completely floored by the sudden reappearance of someone she had thought she would never see again.  
“He was my friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This doesn't necessarily have to happen in the same verse as "Til Death Do Us Part Is Quitter Talk" but it did influence my writing and I recommend it 10/10. Check me out on tumblr @emotionally-comprimised


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